Godmother (28 page)

“What if I never get over it?” she whispered.

In the distance I could hear a church bell chiming the hour.

I stared into her, willing every bit of power I had into her, everything I had left from the other world. What I
should have done for her, for Cinderella. “You will get over it,” I said fiercely. “It is hard. It is the hardest thing in your world. But you must keep doing it, keep living. You have to. Do you understand?”

“Everyone thinks I'm such a flake,” she said. “Always dating all these guys, these guys who are all wrong, but it's because, because I can't—”

“I know,” I said. “It feels impossible, I know. It is the hardest thing, letting go of someone. But you have to do it.”

“I feel like there are black holes all around me. The moment I feel okay, I step into one. I can always step into one.”

Her eyes were so hollow, the way Cinderella's had been. I felt as if she were right on the edge of something and that I would need to use every bit of strength to pull her back.

“I know,” I said. “When I was young, centuries ago, I envied humans for that. For being able to feel that. For being capable of such love and such grief. There is something wonderful in all of it. Do you know that? What you have. The world you have. There's so much love behind everything, so much beauty. You cannot give up on it. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

I concentrated, put everything I had into her. I would not make the same mistake again. “This is what the world is,” I said. “Exactly this. This is what it means to be human.”

We were quiet for a few moments.

“I didn't mean to dump all this on you, Lil,” she said finally. “You're being so amazing and—”

“It's why I'm here,” I said.

She nodded, smiled at me through her tears. “I must be a mess.”

“You're fine,” I said, smoothing back her hair. And she
was. Her hair glittered in front of me. Her skin as soft as silk. I looked at her and thought of pearls, the insides of shells. “You'll be fine.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“Now, get up,” I said. “And let's put this on you.” I stood. Carefully, as if the dress were made of glass, I unlaced it and lifted it from the mannequin.

She stood, shaky. Wiping her eyes. She pulled off her jeans, took off her T-shirt. Her body was pale and glowing. She was wearing shimmering silk stockings and a strapless bra.

Already she looked like she'd been fashioned from foam and sea.

She stepped into the dress. I helped her move it into place, then tightened the lace in back, tying it into a bow. I adjusted the dress in front and smoothed her hair where it was tousled, next to her face.

“How does it look?” she whispered. “Is it okay?”

“Yes,” I said. “It's beautiful.”

She would be okay, I thought. She would be more than okay: She would be happy.

We stepped out of her apartment, out of her building, into the street. We headed up Avenue B. The air was thick with the scent of a light rain, which was just beginning to fall. A cab was approaching, the roof sign lit to show that it was available.

“I'll get this for you,” I said. I lifted my arm. The cab stopped at our side. I smiled and pulled the door open for her.

She looked at me. “Thank you,” she said, and reached over, for the second time that night, and hugged me. “Thank you for everything. I'll come by first thing in the morning to tell you all about it.”

“You're welcome,” I said. I could feel tears pricking at my eyes. A relief so strong it was almost unbearable. Finally. It was right. She was okay now. She would be okay. I wondered if I should tell her that by morning I would be on my way home, to the other world.

I chose not to say anything. She was okay now. She would be fine.

She bent down and slid into the cab, careful to keep her hair in place, the silk of her dress smooth and straight.

“Have a wonderful time,” I said. “Just let yourself feel everything. All of it.”

“I will,” she said. “Thank you, Lil. Thank you for being such a good friend to me.”

And in that moment it was all perfect: The smoky early autumn air, the glitter on her face, her moonlit hair hanging to her shoulders. The pale blue dress with its ribbons and smattering of crystals. Her pale slippers disappearing behind the door.

I watched the cab rush up the street, its taillights fading out.

I closed my eyes. I couldn't hear or smell the ball, but I was almost there. I could have been there. The silver stairs. The towers. The moat and the candles. The scent of gardenia. The air, smoky from all the torches. The rain and the heat. The love and grief and beauty. The whole world, all the kingdom, everything ground down and stopped until there was only this.

My part had ended. This is where it ended. Where it should have ended. When I would have left her.

I remained alone on Avenue B, and despite the miracle that had just occurred, the street was the same as always. Groups
of young people wandering along the sidewalk, the curving shapes of pipes from inside the hookah bar on the corner. A Vespa sputtering past. An old Cadillac. A Volvo. Another cab.

I reached into my purse and felt something soft in my hand. I looked down. I was holding her scarf, the one I had found for her. I couldn't believe I had forgotten to give it to her. I started to call her name, but she was gone, the taxi out of view.

It felt like an omen. My body seemed to shift, turn in on itself. I couldn't breathe suddenly. I had left her once before when I should have protected her.

I lifted my arm.

“The Pierre Hotel,” I said as the taxi came to a stop beside me.

Chapter Fifteen

I
WAS BREATHLESS WITH EXCITEMENT AS THE CARRIAGE
moved through the night. I could feel him—dancing with girl after girl, his eyes pinned to the door at the top of the staircase, waiting for me to appear in front of him. His heart in his mouth. I knew he had not stopped thinking of me after the day I appeared in his chamber. His mind was full of me, my red hair and green eyes, my pale human skin. Like autumn leaves and milk. Of course, if Cinderella walked through the palace doors, she would make him forget me and that day in his chamber, the most important day of my life. I had to face that now: how that day had meant more to me than any day I'd spent in the fairy world. I would give up all of it for him—coasting along the fairy lake, gliding in the air above it. I would give it up for another day like that one, with him.

I loved the feel of the ground rushing under me, the rumble of the carriage, the sensation of silk on skin, the glass encasing my feet. I heard the ball as we rushed toward it, saw the great heaps of food spread out on the golden banquet tables, the thousand candles lit up and floating in the
moat, stuck in the stone walls and along the banisters of the great staircases, the hundred silver steps outside leading to the palace's front gate. The line of golden carriages out front. The ladies and lords inside, everyone drunk with music and wine and promise. Cinderella's stepmother and stepsisters in lace and pearls and emeralds, waiting to be plucked from the crowd. And he in the center of it, staring up at the door, the top of the staircase.

Waiting for me.

The carriage rushed ahead.

And then there they were: the silver steps. Blinding me. So sharp and shining, perfect. And over them, at the top of the stairs, the great clock, its hands encrusted with jewels.

I stepped out of the carriage. The glass slipper clicked against the silver, and then I was rushing up the steps, as fast as I could, so fast I couldn't see anything, could only feel the movement from deep in my body, the need to get there, to be with him again.
This,
I thought.
This now. This is what it means to be human.
I couldn't hear, could barely see. It had all just come down to this. Him waiting, me running, the hands of the clock moving forward.

I ROLLED
down the window, stuck my hand out, and moved my face into the breeze. We made a left on Fourteenth Street, then turned up First Avenue.

The cabdriver seemed to linger at every red light, slow down just before every yellow. He was talking loudly on his cell phone in a language I couldn't recognize. I wanted to scream.

“Please,” I said, tapping the thick divider. “I'm in a hurry!”

He gestured to the red light and shrugged, then spoke into his cell phone more loudly than he had before.

I would not miss New York City cabs in the other world, I thought, sitting back and closing my eyes. Clenching both my hands into fists.

Veronica would be fine. She was not like Cinderella, who had been broken long before that night. Hadn't she been?

I forced myself to breathe, even as the taxi lurched into traffic.

What were the fairies doing right now, I wondered. Floating on the water? Landing on tree branches and swinging down? Taking naps in flower blossoms? Or were they right there in the taxi flitting around my neck and ears?

“Help me,” I whispered. “Please. Make sure she is safe.”

The night was getting colder. The taxi moved forward. Thirty-fourth Street became Fortieth, then Forty-sixth. I rolled up the window and watched the street signs pass by, feeling myself getting lighter and lighter. My wings were tingling. I could almost hear the clomping of hooves.
I am coming,
I thought.
Just wait a little bit longer.

“Pierre Hotel,” he said.

And there they were. Carriages, the forest, the castle. There were the coachmen and the guards standing around, ready to escort every lord and lady through the palace doors and into the ball inside.

I RACED
up the silver steps, into the palace. The torches flaring on either side of me. One of the palace guards stepped forward to escort me into the room.

And there he was. The prince, stepping out of the crowd of lords and ladies, just as I knew he would. The guard moved back to his station.

“It's you,” he said. His beautiful mouth. He lifted his hand to me.

“Yes,” I said. “I never forgot you, Theodore.”

“Come inside,” he said, and he smiled at me, looked right into me, the way he had once, when I was hovering at the edge of a room, with no place at all in this world.

I took his hand and let him lead me inside, to where the dancers slid across the marble floor, which shone under us.

Everyone turned to watch us.

He took my hand in his. His other palm pressed against my waist. It seemed to move right through me, straight to the center of my body. I lifted my face to his.

“I was so afraid you wouldn't come,” he said. The music, light and quick, dropped over us. “I haven't been able to stop thinking about you. You're all I think about.”

We began to dance. He pushed me out into the crowd and then pulled me back again, his hand on mine and his face in front of my face and his lips so close to mine. I could taste his breath, smell his scent, and I could see myself reflected as he twirled me about, his hand around my waist, pushing me out and bringing me back to him. Like dying and coming back to life.

He stared at me as if I could disappear any second, and he did not take his eyes off me. The music forced him away and back again, away and back again. His hand clutched mine so tightly it was beginning to hurt.

A line of ladies stood watching us. Having left the floor, standing with glasses of wine or punch in their hands. I

could hear them whispering, “Who is she? Where did she come from?” I could feel the heartbreak of the girls who'd spent weeks dreaming of this night and already realized he was for me. Cinderella's sisters stood miserably by the stairway, unable to stop watching us.

I could hear their thoughts:
Why won't he dance with us?
But they knew why. No one had ever seen anyone like me. I was not of their world, despite the blood beating through me, my human form, my pale skin, and the sweat forming on my brow.

My body moved easily with the music. I stared back at him, into his sugar-water eyes. I felt he could see things in me that no one else could. This desire. Fairies were not supposed to want for anything. But I did. It was a secret, a gift, for him.

The music ended. He pulled me to him, my palm against his chest, and I could feel his heart beating. I had never felt a human heart before. “Come outside with me,” he whispered, his voice ragged. My whole body flared into something else. I loved this new feeling. I felt the silk on my skin, his heart under my palm, his face next to my face.

I could smell the rain. At one end of the ballroom, a set of elaborate doors led to a long balcony that looked out over the palace gardens. Strings of gardenias had been wrapped around the railing. The scent was so strong, made stronger by the rain just beginning to fall, that it filled the ballroom.

He led me to the balcony, moving through the crowd of his subjects, who all stepped back and bowed or curtsied as he went past.

It was exquisite, ecstatic.

Outside, the rain was light. I felt wild, in love with the feelings moving through me, with his eyes that saw me, that pinned me to the spot. I pulled him to me. He slipped my gown from my shoulders. I could taste him now, like figs plucked straight from the tree.